The Making of a Foodie

Hungry for more . . .

Isn't Babs just gorgeous here? I love this picture of my Mom. I can see myself in her in this picture.

True Confession: I have been trying to write this post about the day my Mom died for over a year, and I have, until now, been unable to do it. Every time I've tried to sit down and write about this, I've found that it was all just a little . . .well, too much. It was too fresh, too raw, too sad, too personal, too weird, too off-topic. . .too. . .too. . .much. However, I woke up this morning and realized it was time. For those of you who don't know, my Mom died of ALS, otherwise known as Lou Gehrig's disease. She was only 66 years old. When she was first diagnosed with the disease, I wrote a post called "Feeding my Soul," but when I went back to look for the link to that post, I realized I had originally called it "Eating is Overrated." Ha! Probably, NOT the message a self-professed Foodie should be uttering out loud. I was editing myself for you, even back then. Well, not today, my friends. Today, you get Foodie raw, emotional and uncensored. Bear with me. It will be worth it. I promise. 

If you have not lost either of your parents, then you simply don't know. It is THE hardest thing in the world. You, unavoidably, and without your consent, end up feeling like an orphan. Abandoned. Yet, this is a story about how on the day my Mom died, I was not alone. Yes, I was lucky enough to have people around to comfort me on that day, and, yes, I had phone calls & texts from all my loving friends . . .but even more importantly, before the sun set on that day, I had my Mom with me in a very profound and unexpected way, and I want to share that story with you.

Where to begin? Well, January 20th, 2011, the day before Mom died, had been a pretty great day for her, all things considered. My brother, Chris, and his wife, Andrea, had come over to visit with their two babies earlier that day. Mom loved her kids and was crazy about her grand-kids. She always looked forward to a visit from her grand-babies.

A nurse, who came to check-in on Mom at home, had asked Mom if she might be interested in having a Minister come and visit her. Mom said she did, so, that afternoon we arranged to have a Minister (that my Mom had never met) come to pay her a visit. None of us kids were home when he came to pray with Mom, so we will never know what was said, but clearly, unbeknownst to any of us, Mom was already preparing to leave us, even then.

I was also in Tulsa on that day. I had been visiting Tulsa at least twice a month, to help my brother care for my Mom, and to host my underground supperclub called the Test Kitchen. The night Mom passed away, I was hosting my 3rd, and most important dinner, in Tulsa. As I was setting up all day, I kept thinking I should swing by to say "Hi" to my Mom, but as the day went on, and the dinner hour approached, I knew I wouldn't have enough time to get over to see her. It is a decision I will always regret. It would have been my last chance to see my Mom alive.

I had been staying with my Mom, up until the last few months of her life, when I would come to Tulsa to visit. When it was time to hire 24-hour care for my Mom, and the night nurses began staying over, I started sleeping over at a friend's apartment to give them the extra bedroom, as it was closer to my Mom's room. It was a natural progression of a relationship I was having with a man in Tulsa, who we will call "The Mayor," and my time spent with him and my son, Tastie, were the only bright spots in a terrible year filled with death and divorce for me.

Mom went to bed early. She would watch TV for a few hours, and then fall asleep, leaving the night nurses to shut off her TV, after she had dozed off. Mom could no longer work her fingers enough to use the remote by herself, and it drove her crazy. She had the type of ALS that affected her upper body and her throat and voice. Which meant that although my Mom could, thankfully, still walk at the time of her death, she could not speak very well or use her arms or hands in any capacity. She could no longer hug any of us, and her warm hugs were the best. To adapt, we realized Mom could whip her wrist up and give us a love pat on our bottoms with her hand, so that became her way of hugging us. We would all laugh every time she did that. I would be saying goodbye to Mom, putting my arms around her, and I would feel her hand whip up and tap my bum. I knew what it meant.

The other thing Mom did as soon as her voice started to give from the weakening of the muscles in her throat, was she would say "I love you" compulsively and at the most interesting times. She kept telling us she knew one day she would not be able to say those words, so anytime it crossed her mind to say it, she would blurt them out. Hundreds of times a day, she would say those three little words to us. Sometimes the "I love you's" came 5 minutes apart, as her dementia that came with her ALS began to play tricks with her memory. Sometimes they came when she had soiled herself, and we were bent down trying to clean her up. Even at times when I was frustrated with her or her disease, my response was always the same, "I love you too, Momma."

As my Test Kitchen dinner ended in Tulsa that night, was probably about the time my Mom would have been dozing off to sleep. The Mayor came to help me load up all of my gear after the dinner was over, and I followed him back to his apartment. I was excited that the dinner had gone so well, and so many influential people had been in attendance. I was finally getting some traction in Tulsa. Then, as we crawled into bed that night, we whispered excitedly in the dark about our plans for the morning, as we had purchased tickets months earlier, to visit Los Angeles to see The Mayor's family. It had been a long time since I had been to Los Angeles. I was looking forward to this time away from reality. 

As I drifted off to sleep on The Mayor's shoulder, it was the wee hours of the morning, January 21st, 2011.

Across town, Mom was also in her bed, sleeping peacefully. Juanita, her night nurse, had heard Mom stir and she went in and sat at her bedside to check on her. Juanita told us that Mom's breathing had suddenly started to become erratic. As she spoke softly to my Mom, telling her to take it easy, and calm her breathing . . .she said Mom never woke up or opened her eyes, but instead she took one last raggedy gasp of air, into her already deteriorating lungs, and left us, and the terrible disease she had been suffering with, behind.

Juanita called my brother first, and he called the paramedics. With my brother being a fireman in Tulsa, they were over at my Mom's house with lighting speed. My brother, Chris, along with Juanita had checked my Mom's vitals and they knew she was already gone. My brother has seen enough death in his line of work, to know that this was real. He felt so relived that Mom was gone before the disease could do any more damage to her quality of living. He whispered his own good-byes to Mom, and then allowed her body to be removed by the medial team that had stepped out of the room to give him some privacy.

Across town, The Mayor and I are fresh from the shower and zipping up our suitcases to head to the airport. We are running a little behind, and I am walking out the the door of his apartment when my brother calls me. A call I had not thought I would ever receive. I thought I would be there when my Mom left the earth. I had assumed when Mom died she would be in the hospital, surrounded by all of her kids, with each of us getting a chance to say good-bye. You know, exactly like it is in the movies. As, I am riding down the elevator with my suitcase, I can feel The Mayor reading my face and body language as I am trying to digest the words my brother was saying on the phone. Quietly, The Mayor began to take his coat off and lay it over his suitcase. He understood what was happening to me, before I did. My Mom is gone, and I never got a chance to say good-bye. "There is nothing you can do here," my brother said to me firmly over the phone, "you should go to Los Angeles." When I protested just as firmly about staying to help him with Mom's final preparations, he said: "Jenny, you might as well go. Take the time off. There is nothing more you can do for Mom here, she is gone." So, much to The Mayor's surprise, I told him we needed to get to the airport. We were going to Los Angeles. I think I was in shock. I just did what my brother had told me to do.

As you can imagine, I cried quietly on The Mayor's shoulder on and off again on the plane ride to Los Angeles. At times, I was relived and elated she was no longer suffering, but then the feelings of guilt and loss would creep in and I would feel sad all over again. When we made our tranfers, I would check my phone, Twitter and Facebook feeds out of habit . . .only to find wonderful words of love and support from friends, family and followers. You can't imagine how much I needed those words of encouragement and care. They were priceless to me. It made me feel less alone, somehow.

When we arrived in Los Angeles, we had a bite of lunch, and then we went to the Santa Monica Pier. I asked The Mayor if he would take me someplace where I could cry alone, with my memories of my Mom, and by the ocean seemed like a good place to do it. He left me on a bench, at my request, at the end of the pier. The sun was setting and the water sparkled like diamonds from the sun reflecting off of it's every surface.

As I sat there waiting for the tears to come, I was looking out at this vast body of water, I thought about how glad I was that Mom was finally free. Free of the pain, the disease . . .her soul was also free. Free to experience other things outside of her body, that had failed her in the end. Free like the waves of the ocean or the birds flying overhead. And as I let the tears flow down my face, I whispered to my Mom how much I loved her and how much I would miss her and how glad I was that her spirit was finally, finally free.

I was not alone on the Santa Monica Pier that day. Hundred of people milled about. Children ran across the boardwalk with ice creams in their hands, men were fishing below me, and a guitar player suddenly began to sing "Tears in Heaven" by Eric Clapton. I laughed out loud when he started singing because I thought . . .OF COURSE, while I am sitting here with hundreds of strangers all around me, thousands of miles from home, mourning the loss of my Mom, this guy would start singing THIS song.

As I reached inside my purse for a tissue to blow my nose with, a pretty young woman in her early 20's in a white bikini came and sat down next to me on the bench. I finished blowing my nose, unaware of her presence, until she scooted closer to me on the bench leaned in and whispered, "Are you okay?" I jumped a little at the sound of her voice, and immediately apologized for it. I looked over to see her pretty tan legs and white bikini bottoms, and I realized that my crying must have attracted her attention. Without looking her pretty face, (I knew I must look a mess and was embarrassed), I mumbled into my tissue that my Mom had died earlier that day, and I had come here to say good-bye to her. I apologized for making her worry and assured her that I would be okay. She was clearly unconvinced by my words, and she slid closer to me and put her arm around my back squeezing my shoulder tightly as the tears continued to come, although I was trying to will them to stop.

She sat with me for about 5 minutes, her arm strong and tight around my shoulder as I sobbed. When my crying had subsided and she suddenly said: "Would it be all right if I gave you a hug?" Immediately, my inner voice rejected that request. I am not the type of person to accept hugs from strangers on the street with ease. But as I sat there, feeling the acute loss of my Mom, I thought, "What the hell!" So, I said quietly to her, "I would like that. Thank you."

Without hesitation, this beautiful girl put both her arms around me, at the same time I put mine around her, and we sat on that bench and hugged. Her skin felt warm and smooth, and I was in awe of her openness to try to help a stranger heal with a hug. We broke the embrace and I went back staring at my hands in my lap. I mumbled a quiet "thank you" toward her and she whispered back in response, "You are going to be alright, everything is going to be alright," and she leaned over and kissed me on my shoulder, which was something my Mom used to do to me growing up when we would be sitting on the couch watching TV, side by side. Then the girl slowly got up and left me, right where she had found me on that bench at the end of the pier. Suddenly, I felt light. All of the pain and sorrow was gone. I knew she was right, it was going to be okay. That's when I realized that Mom had been HERE with me. She had come to me on this pier in California in the form of this beautiful blonde girl to tell me good-bye, with a hug and a familiar kiss I instantly recognized. I snapped my head up to see where this girl had gone. I wanted to chase after her, to thank her and look her in the face and see if I could feel Mom's spirit around her somehow . . .but she was gone. I stood up on top of my bench to see past the crowds to see if I could spot her, but, literally, like a ghost, she was gone.

When I got back to Tulsa, after my trip, my brother and I went to the funeral home to see my Mom's body before it was cremated. It was the one request my Mom had asked of me over and over as her disease progressed. She insisted that I, as the eldest daughter, come and view her body before it was cremated, just to really make sure she was gone before they cremated her. Mom had many irrational fears as the dementia had taken over, and this seemed like one I could ease her mind by agreeing to. My brother went with me as we walked back to the viewing room to see a frail, thin and freshly showered Mom laying on a table with a sheet draped over most of her body. She was so, so gone. It was like looking at a shell. A vessel that once held the hilarious and loving woman I knew as my Mom.

As we walked back to the funeral directors office to sign the final papers, he produced three letters, one for each of us kids, and handed them to us telling us that they had been part of her final instructions. They were similar we realized on comparison, but she personalized each with a little something. Written in pen at the top of my letter was: "This is for Jenny." She wrote all three of our letters back in 2006, long before she knew of the disease that would end her life.

As, I scanned the pages of my letter, a paragraph jumped out at me from the rest. It read: "Also, on a personal level, I do strongly believe that life continues after death. Our spirits never ever die. I want you to be aware that in whatever way possible, I will try to let you know that I have found eternal happiness . . .look for me, OK?" Look for me, she wrote, and in all cap's...OK? I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. She had done exactly as she promised, she had come to let me know that she was happy and safe.

We went out to the Tallgrass Prairie in July of last year to scatter my Mom's ashes, as she had requested. My two brother's and I held up the plastic bag, that seemed so heavy in our hands, to let the wind take Mom across the prairie where the buffalo roamed in Oklahoma. It was the beautiful closure that all of us needed. We stood around taking pictures and telling stories about Mom with my Mom's family who had come to Oklahoma to release her ashes with us. I stood on that hillside and told the story of how Mom had to come to say goodbye to me, just as she promised in her letter. There wasn't a dry eye in the group, including mine, when I finished. Mom was truly all around us on that hot July day. We felt her presence and her peace.

This post is in loving memory of my beautiful Mother, Barbara Louise Whittington. I love you, Mom. Then, now and always.

Well, my friends, this post was hugely personal, so I thank you, for allowing me to eat first today, instead of feeding all of you. I, for once, wrote this post to feed myself. Love and light to all of you on this day and everyday.

xxoox Foodie

Feeding my soul

This is a post about my Mom and me . . .and food. It will be more of a personal post, that I hope you will indulge me by reading. I am writing this for me, but I am sharing it with you, because it has to do with food and how my views of it are changing, shifting and morphing. Foodie is growing up. 

Exhibit A: After months of not being able to read the words on my computer screen past 10 pm, I have finally broken over and bought a pair of +1.00 reading glasses. Welcome to the beginning of the end of my eyesight. But, let me tell you something, if you have a sexy librarian fantasy, you should see me in these specs. Hair pulled back in a loose bun with a pen stuck through it holding it up off my face as I bend over the computer screen to read it. I am foxx. Yep, with two xx's.

Right now, food is my passion. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up the same way. Never has food been more important to me than right now. I am putting all of my eggs in one basket. I am now attempting to make a living from eating it, serving it, recommending it and writing about it. No safety net. In the words of Gary Vaynerchuk it's time for me to "Crush it". (Which by the way I am both reading and listening to on my iPod, right now. If you know Gary, you know you have to hear Gary to get it, and him.) So, I've incorporated . . .Foodie LLC. Thank you. All I can say is Legalzoom.com is a wonderful thing. 

 Writing about food and what is going on in the food scene in Kansas City and beyond is truly a pleasure, but it has been one that I have had little time for lately. Part of it has to do with major changes in my own personal life, and now my focus on getting my company up and running, but they also have to do with changes in my Mom's health. My Mom was diagnosed with ALS or Lou Gerhig's disease last July, but we think she had been dealing with the disease at least a year before she was diagnosed. It is terminal. Most people live 2-5 years after they have been diagnosed. As it is described in all the medical literature: "People with ALS experience a loss of muscle strength and coordination that eventually gets worse. This eventually makes one unable to do routine tasks such as going up steps, getting out of a chair, or swallowing. Breathing or swallowing muscles may be the first muscles affected. As the disease gets worse, more muscle groups develop problems." 

My Mom's particular brand of ALS has also come with a mild dementia, which honestly will be more of a blessing as her disease progresses. Right now, it just means that with no governor on her thought process, there have been some pretty hilarious things coming out of her mouth. When someone recently asked her how she was doing, she looked up at them and said "I am delicious, thanks for asking." My Mom takes after me. 

To know my Mom, is to know a part of me. My Mom is simply my best friend. Growing up, we went through a period where we were wearing our hair the same way, and we were often mistaken for each other from a far. She cheered at my graduation from high school, then college and stood by me as my Matron of Honor at my wedding. I cried when she called to tell me about her breast cancer diagnosis over 10 years ago, and celebrated her being cancer free by doing the Walk for the Cure with her. I was heart-broken that she could never really get her life back on track after she and my Dad divorced. Yet, I was so proud of her for getting her college degree late in life and going on to become a Special Education Teacher in Tulsa. She also stood at the foot of the bed as I delivered Tastie at St. Luke's Hospital. She has been my greatest cheerleader and my rock. I love her so, so very much.

When I heard the news about her condition, I was at my brother William's apartment in Dallas. I was on a pit-stop on a road trip to Austin. I had just arrived at his apartment when he told me of Mom's ALS diagnosis. I was in shock, and I tried to contain the crying to be brave for William's sake. We called Mom and my other brother Chris, and talked and cried until I was both hungry and thirsty. My brother then took me out for dinner that night, and we both sat and ate and tried to digest what ALS really meant for Mom and for us, as her children.  

So, I find it more than a little ironic that at a time when food, eating, writing, restaurants, chefs and cooking are so important to me, is same the time my Mom has lost the ability to eat. She was experiencing quite a lot of choking, when she was attempting to eat food. So, the doctor suggested a feeding tube to allow her to take her nutrients without the added risk of choking on her meals. She was against it for a long time. My Mom loves to eat, and has a sweet tooth for days. It was one of the few earthly pleasures she could still enjoy with this horrible disease. She did not want it taken away from her, and we were conflicted about the idea of trying to take it away from her. Then, a week before her 66th birthday, she told my brother she was ready for the feeding tube. We wasted no time getting her in to see the doctor. We wanted to get her in and get it done before she could change her mind.

My brother Chris, (the fireman)(seen here with me and Mom and his daughter Special K!) and his wife, Andrea, (the nurse) are the day to day care takers for Mom. They both have had medical training and they live just down the street from Mom's house. They are on a much deserved vacation this week and I have come to fill in for them and care for Mom. Which means I needed to learn how to use her new feeding tube. These are the 10 Steps or instructions my brother left for me to follow to feed my Mom:

Step 1) Have Mom sit on her couch and place a towel on her lap.

Step 2) Take a her feeding tube and pull the cap off at the end of the tube.

Step 3) Unlock the clamp that is on the other end of the tube.  To unlock clamp, pull back on the taller portion of the clamp to release the depressed portion.  Keep the open end of the tube higher then her stomach when you open the clamp so that her stomach contents doesn't pour out. (WHAT???)

Step 4) Put a 60 cc syringe into the open end of the tube.  Slowly pull back on the syringe to check stomach contents.  If 60 cc's of fluids are drawn out, this means Mom's stomach is too full to have a feeding.  If this is the case, slowly push the syringe back down to push the contents back into her stomach.  There will always be a little bit of content that comes out.  As long as it's not a lot, then she is ready to be fed.  No matter how much content comes out, always slowly push the syringe back in so that the content returns to her stomach.  After you have pushed the contents back into her stomach, press the tube clamp back down, locking it into place. (I am feeling a little faint!)

Step 5) After you have checked her stomach contents, you now need to flush the tube.  Remove the plunger portion of the syringe completely.  Insert the syringe back into the open end of the tube, holding the syringe upright and at about the level of Mom's stomach.  Pour 30 cc's of room temperature water into the syringe.  Unlock the tube clamp and the water will slowly drain into Mom's stomach.  The syringe is basically being used as a funnel at this point... letting gravity take the water into her stomach.  The higher you hold the syringe/funnel the faster the water will pour into her stomach.  This is why you want to keep the syringe/funnel at Mom's waist level so that it doesn't drain to quickly.

Step 6) When the water has been emptied from the syringe/funnel, but there is still water remaining in the tube, clamp the tube back off.  Now you will feed Mom her nutrients.  Pour 60 cc's of nutrients into the syringe/funnel.  This will basically top off the syringe/funnel because they are about 60 cc's.  Each syringe has numbers like a measuring cup so you will know exactly how much nutrients you are pouring in.  After 60 cc's of nutrients are in the syringe/funnel, open the tube clamp and, again, keep the syringe/funnel at Mom's waist level and watch the nutrients slowly pour into Mom's stomach.  Again, keep the syringe/funnel at about waist high so that it does not pour in too quickly.  This will take about 2-3 minutes until the syringe/funnel is empty.  When the syringe/funnel is empty, but there is still nutrient in the tube, clamp the tube back off.

Step 7) Pour an another 50 cc's of room temperature water into the syringe/funnel.  Re-open tube clamp and again have the syringe/water at Mom's waist level and allow gravity to pull the water into Mom's stomach, thus you will be flushing the tube clean.

Step 8) When the syringe/funnel is empty of water... allow most of the remaining water in the tube to drain into her stomach.  When most of it has drained into her stomach, clamp off the tube and put the cap back on the end of the tube.  It is perfectly fine to leave a little bit of water in her tube when finished.

Step 9) Rinse out / wash the syringe, plunger and everything else so that it can be used again.  Put some tin foil over the open / unused nutrient formula and put can in the refrigerator.  

Step 10) When it is time for Mom's next feeding, remove open can from refrigerator and let it sit out for about 30 minutes to get closer to room temperature before you funnel it into her stomach.

Perhaps you can see why my non-medical training . . .made this relatively simple task (now that I have actually done it a few times) extremely daunting. But, I knew this was something I was completely capable of doing and as I re-read these instructions I could visualize each step in my mind. I knew with a little practice I could absolutely do this one thing for my Mom. I could feed her.

Mom can still eat by mouth, but most of her nutrients and calories now come from the feeding tube, 2-3 times a day. As I watch her sit and enjoy a cookie and some juice as her "dessert" by mouth, I am struck by the difference between eating for pleasure and eating for sustenance. So much of what I am lucky enough to write about and talk about is wrapped around the pleasure of eating, my Mom is now "eating to live."

The other thing I realized is that getting the opportunity to feed Mom via her feeding tube is not as alien or strange as I imagined it to be. Feeding someone is a very intimate act, whether it is via a feeding tube or not. Feeding my Mom, gives me a chance to sit close to her and talk face to face while she "eats." It is socially no different than if Mom and I were sitting across the table from each other sharing a meal and getting caught up on our day.

The only other thing that I found humorous in all of this, was the fact that Mom no longer kept food in her house. So, literally, there was nothing in her house for me to actually eat for my meals.

As a friend said to me about my experiences feeding my Mom via her tube . . ."right now, you are getting the chance to do this one thing for the woman who at one point fed you."

You know what, my friend was right. I am feeding my soul, and my Mom, at the same time.

I love you, Momma. XXOOOXXX

We find these truths to be self-evident . . .

Regarding Chains

Chain Restaurants. Ugh! I hear you all groaning from here, and I know what you are thinking. There are so many reasons for a foodie to get riled at the thought of eating at a chain restaurant. Drive-thru windows, wrong orders, cold food, bad food, boring food, waiting forever to be seated with black buzzy boxes in hand, hostesses who are of no redeeming value, Sutter Home and Columbia Crest, fake Greek pillars or murals of the Italian countryside, plastic grapes, dusty bottles of olive oil, crayons and kid's menu's, servers with no personality or too much personality, straws in your drink with the paper left on the top, microwaved food that comes in pre-portioned pouches, Manager's with goofy ties, "Would you like to keep your fork?" and other silly questions. The list goes on...and on.

I do get asked the question, usually by people who are not so interested in food, what chain restaurants would I recommend. I will preface this blog post by telling you that I would much rather support a great local restaurant, fancy or casual, who is doing it right, than give my hard-earned money to a chain any day. It is the right thing to do to support your friends and neighbors in this economy. So this question of chains, is painful for me to answer as I feel as though I am betraying my best friends.

But, let's be honest . . .many of the complaints I listed above, could also just as easily happen at one of our locally-owned restaurants. No one is perfect.

I consider it my job to hit all new and existing restaurants in town. Chain or not. I love restaurants. I think they are fascinating in all of their many forms, from food cart to five star. I am always searching for the new or unique restaurant experience or service. I am constantly spotting for the over the top, never-seen-before-ingredient or dish. But more than anything, I am looking for the surprise factor, the one thing they do or make that is truly special and worth buzzing about. Easier to do with locally owned restaurants, and sometimes hard to spot or even expect from chain restaurants. That's why when you do find a chain worth mentioning, you want to mention it. To give them props for getting it right, and because they deserve it.

As a Foodie, and a person who considers herself a passionate patron of the local culinary arts in Kansas City and beyond, I am also human. I am a mother and a wife and I am busy, much like all of you. With our busy work and social schedules, we sometimes turn to chain restaurants to fulfill our basic need to put something in our bellies. Usually, my son Tastie, has something to do with that decision. Do I wish we had time to eat at home, a well balanced meal, made from only the freshest local ingredients? Of course, and honestly with this economy that is more of the norm than the exception these days. 

Let me put it simply, there are some solid chain restaurants, that really do a nice job. Yep, I said it. They are the ones who are managing to keep it personal and those who truly care about the type of food and experience they are delivering. At their very best, these chains can compete with the best of our local restaurants. Remember, these chains didn't just pop-up out of nowhere. Most of them, started out as a single local restaurant. Mom and Pop's that kept growing until they were bought out by larger restaurant companies.

Chains fulfill our convenience needs at a reasonable price. You know what to expect when you walk through the door. If you are intimidated by the unknown or prefer not to risk spending your money on the untried, then chains maybe right for you. There are few surprises and the dish you came to get will most likely taste exactly the same way you remember it from last time. This is true comfort food, a hot trend in an uncertain time.

Having worked as the Marketing Director, for a regional Italian chain for many years, I know why people came back to my restaurants (or not) as John Cloud, wrote in TIME Magazine in an article called In defense of Applebee's,  "(a chain restaurant) doesn't strive to inspire, it strives to never disappoint." A feat, in an of itself. Don't you think? A chain restaurant needs to have good reliable food, fast, friendly servers that know how to quickly refill drinks and ensure orders are correct and they need to have clean bathrooms. Period. There is the secret to owning a successful restaurant. Consistent, quick, competent and clean.

At the end of the day, there are chain restaurants that meet my needs, that I can recommend to you. I am sure you have your favorites, but these are mine, and they are listed in order of fast food to fine dining.

1) Chick-fil-a - How can you not love those adorable cows, who can't spell, begging you to "Eat More Chikin"? A brand with a long family history, and a clever marketing campaign, Chick-fil-a finally opened their first locations Kansas City a few years ago. We had heard the rumors of how good a plain chicken sandwich could be, but didn't believe it until we tasted it for ourselves. With a free sandwich giveaway on opening day, their generous, honest spirit permeates everything including their food. With a strong commitment to their employees and the community they serve, Chick-fil-a is a chain with a heart, and 1,425 locations nationwide. Eat More Chikin', I guess so.

2) Culver's Frozen Custard and Butter Burgers - Any place that claims to sell butter burgers you know is going to do well, because what's not to love about butter? While I am unimpressed with their frozen french fries, I do think their large thinly pressed "lacey" butter burgers with fresh toppings hit the spot. The place feels clean and pleasant and the booths are very comfortable to sit in. I love the one table with the chandelier over it. I even like the fact that there is no playground, so we can sit and talk with our son, versus watching him wolf down his burger to hit the playground. The custard is also a stand-out, nice to find a place where dessert is really worth saving room for. With almost 400 locations nationwide, Culver's serves a better butter burger, for sure.

3) Five Guys Burgers & Fries - This is President Obama's favorite hamburger place. This is a place that came highly recommended by author Andrew Smith, who wrote a book called Hamburger, a global history. With 2 or 3 locations scattered across Kansas City and Lawrence, Five Guys Burgers & Fries opened with no press, no buzz. I accidentally stumbled across them doing some research on Andrew Smith when he was in town promoting his book. They have managed to keep the main thing, THE main thing . . .meaning they only sell burgers and fries, and it only takes 5 guys to run the restaurant. Exactly, as the name implies. Peanuts, to snack on inside the front door to hand cut french fries and hamburgers that automatically come with 2 meat patties on it are the wonderful surprises found at Five Guys. When you want a great juicy burger, a classic burger and fries joint, come here.

4) Chipotle - For a burrito chain that sold a majority stake in it's restaurant to McDonald's Corporation, Chipotle might have been suspect in their "desire to do good food" at one time. But with McDonald's having no stake in the company since October 2006, Chipotle has proven itself a force in the quick casual dining arena. They impress with their industrial decor, efficient streamlined operation and incredibly high food quality. Chipotle promoted the movie FOOD Inc. earlier this year as part of their on-going committement to local food. This summer Chipotle also committed to purchasing at least 35% of at least one bulk produce item in all restuarants from local farmers when it is seasonally available. There are two local farms participating in the Kansas City area. Farmers in Rich Hill, MO are providing local restaurants their green peppers and farms in Stanberry, MO are supplying their jalapenos. All I can say about that is, Ole! Besides, what's not to love about their online ordering system.

5) Pei Wei - Pei Wei is my "go-to" place for a great night out with my family, which is the little sister concept to another favorite of mine, PF Chang's. Pei Wei pleases because for a reasonable price you get a cool modern atmosphere, a bit of a show watching the guys clang woks around and the chance to have a decent glass of wine with my Asian food. The service is what is should be and the food, thankfully, comes out very fast to the table which means you have quick in and out times. I think the food is excellent and the quality of the dishes impressive for the quick casual place it is.

6) NoRTH - A Fox Restaurant Concept, NoRTH is their Northern Italian chain, but they are a chain that operates and acts like an independent restaurant. A wonderful indoor/outdoor patio coupled with an elegant upscale dining room, NoRTH is so flexible. It is a great family place, date night place, out with the girls or boys . . .you name it and NoRTH fits the bill. The food is also another surprise. With specials and a anti pasta platter that changes daily, food is a top priority here and it shows. I have enjoyed everything from salad to pizza to entrees and have not been disappointed. 

7) Fogo de Chao - I may be a little biased on this one seeing as I am married to a Brazilian and owned a Brazilian retail shop for 5 years here in Kansas City called Brazilian Cargo Company, but Fogo de Chao is a wonderful way to experience the true Brazilian Steakhouse. Once the gauchos hear us speaking Portuguese, we get treated like Kings and Queens. The service is very attentive which is a refreshing luxury. They also have a stunning wine list, unexpected for a chain restaurant in my experience. The salad bar is tempting and full of unusual gourmet things to tease the palate, but go light on the garden and wait for the main course . . .the meat. Covered in rock salt and spices then roasted over an oven flame rotisserie style, there are some classic cuts of meat that most of us would be familiar with, but I would tell you the Brazilian cuts are much more flavorful than the standard American cuts. Be sure to get a slice of the beef tri-tip steak. The other impressive thing about this meal is everything you get is included in one price. Easy to love.

8) Capital Grille - With their clubby, old-fashioned men's club feel, Capital Grille provides the classic American Steakhouse experience. Another wonderful bar area and a wine list and locker program that many heavy hitters in town participate in. Chef driven concept, they take great care with all of the details of your experience. Service is top drawer and the food is always good. I also like their extensive use of the OpenTable system to record the preferences and dining experiences of regular guests so that they can be remembered, welcome or addresses the next time they come in. Simply, a class act.

9) Bristol - Our own local seafood place, owned by Houlihan's Corporation, always hits the spot. My preference is the sexy new location down in the Power & Light district, where the Happy Hour deals and the opportunity to meet for drinks before a show is a convenient treat. The Lobster special on Wednesdays never fail to disappoint in terms of quality and price. Brunch is another wonderful way to treat yourself.

10) RA Sushi - Owned by Benihana Corporation, RA Sushi located in the Aloft Hotel in the Park Place Shopping Center in Leawood dishes up a hard hitting bar scene with sushi on the side. They deliver enough energy and excitement inside their restaurant that it feels more like a night club than a restaurant. Signature cocktails like the Saketini are excellent and the beautiful people that come here and work here are what makes eating here, fun. Stick to the sashimi hand cut at the sushi bar and you will not be disappointed with the menu.

So, there you have it. My preferred "Top 10" restaurant chains, out on the table. There are a few more places that I might feel less inclined to recommend to you, like Popeye's Chicken and Schlotzsky's only because although I personally love them, they are not everyone's cup of tea. 

Eat at our local independent restaurants as often as you can, and when you need convenience for all the right reasons, support those chains that are providing you with service, food and atmosphere that meet or exceed your expectations.

In other words, support your local restaurants.

Ice, Ice Baby

Click below to see the new Japanese toy that Jonathan Justus of Justus Drugstore is letting his bartenders - Jay Beavers and Chris Conatser (who won the KC Bartending Competition this year) play with up in Smithville. This video was taken last Saturday night after the last guest cleared the house and Jonathan had some time to show us his new toy in person. (Double click on the picture to start the video in Quicktime.)

Chilling, no? So, I'll confess . . .I have been a late to the party in understanding the importance of ice in a cocktail.

I understand that ice is what makes a drink cold, of course, but the utter importance of the purity of the water the cube is made from and the actual size of the cube in terms of keeping a drink cold while not diluting it, has been a bit of a realization for me. Apparently, ice is a very, very important ingredient in a cocktail and (let's say it in unison ladies) size does seem to matter. A great deal actually, depending on which bartender/mixologist you talk to in this town.

While, I have been more of a wine drinker the last few years, my go-to cocktail of choice is a classic G&T or gin and tonic when the mood strikes. So, it stands to reason that I should take a healthy interest in ice when my inner "bathtub gin diva" strikes. Ice is a very important part of the "on the rocks" experience as my friend Ryan Maybee has told me many times. Here, I have attached a radio interview I did with Ryan for Chef Jasper's - LIVE from Jasper's Kitchen radio show on 710 AM KCMO every Saturday morning at 11:00 am, and if you listen to this fascinating interview we did, in the middle of this clip he discusses his view on the importance of ice in a cocktail. Take a listen.  

In this interview with Ryan, we talk about the art of cocktailing right now more as a movement looking back at the past, but this new article from the New York Times talks about the 8 Important Movements right now in cocktails. I read this with wonder and awe as my homework this week, and I thought all of you would enjoy reading it as well.

Remember my friends, with the holidays upon us (Can you believe it is Thanksgiving already? Geesh!) when you decide to mix yourself or a loved one a cocktail, you should stop and consider where the ice you are using has been. Perhaps ice spheres is not that crazy of an idea afterall . . .truthfully I think I would rather just drive up to Smithville and let Jonathan or one of his talented team make me a drink. I know then that my ice will be in perfect shape to enjoy.

Sweet Veil of Tradition

Here are the happy newlyweds, Julie and Kelly Zamboni. (No, Kelly is not heir to the Zamboni ice rink machine fortune. Yes, Julie is adjusting nicely to her new name, thank you. I would too - would you look at this tall, handsome man she just snagged? Seriously, call me anything you like, if that is mine to have and to hold.)

I met Julie through a friend of a friend, and I used to work with Kelly's brother Rob when he lived and worked as a graphic designer in St. Louis. It is a small world, indeed . . . I thought to myself when my friend, Starr, called and asked me to accompany her to Julie's wedding as her date. I happily agreed. Weddings usually mean good food and good drink and I was looking forward to seeing my friends tie the knot.

When Starr said the wedding was going to be at the Holy Rosary Catholic Church down in Columbus Park, a traditionally Italian neighborhood in Kansas City, I didn't think much about it. I am not Catholic or Italian, but I assumed Julie might be as her maiden name was Lucito. It looked like I was in for an Italian Wedding, although I was not sure what exactly that looked like as I had never been to a traditional Italian wedding before.  We parked the car in front of this very old and very beautiful church and went inside.

The second we walked through the front doors of the church, I knew I was in for a lovely surprise.  The colorful stained glass windows, the 26 ornate statues of Mary and saints around the room, the lushness of marble altars placed me in an absolute Italian spiritual nirvana. When the church was founded, Columbus Park was a solidly Italian neighborhood. This church was built by hard-working Italian immigrants as their sanctuary from a cold, cruel world far away from everything they knew and loved. Here they felt welcomed and understood. In this church, they could find peace and inspiration while restoring their faith and refilling spiritual reserves. I was fascinated throughout the ceremony by the icons, the history and the rituals that were so different from my own church experiences. Growing up in Oklahoma, I received very little experience with or opportunity to learn about other religions and their ceremonies. Almost 90% of everyone I knew growing up was Baptist, and the remaining 10% made up the rest of the Protestant melting pot. None of my friends were Catholic or Jewish. Zero. Na-da. 

My husband grew up in St. Louis with most of his friends being Jewish or Catholic. He had just the opposite experience from me. I'll never forget the first wedding I brought my husband to in Oklahoma. After the wedding ceremony, they kept us in our seats and would not release us to go to the reception until they had asked for those moved by the spirit to come to the front of the church to be saved. Oh, yes they did. Many did get saved that day, as I remember. After we sat through that, we went down into the church basement for cake and punch. No reception per se, no dancing and certainly no alcohol. My husband was utterly speechless . . .and a bit offended. For the price of the wedding present we gave, he at least expected a free cocktail in return. I laughed and told him to watch out for the end of that big old bible belt, because it can whip you when you least expect it.

After Julie and Kelly's wedding, Starr and I found ourselves back on the street and headed to Figlio's Tower Room on the Country Club Plaza for the reception. We were looking forward to a pasta feast and a glass or two of vino before steeling ourselves for the inevitable wedding line dancing that lay in front of us - The Chicken Dance, The Electric Slide, The Macarena, The Hokey Pokey and the end of the night Conga Line. It was going to take a lot of food and a lot of wine to get me out on the floor. 

But before the my inner dancing queen would be released, I stumbled upon a most interesting Italian wedding tradition that sparked all my Foodie senses, and it was one that I had never seen before. The Wedding Cookie Table. 

The origin of the cookie table is a somewhat contentious topic; some believe it began in Youngstown, Ohio, while many from Pittsburgh, Pa., claim the table as their own. However, the tradition also has strong ties to Italian communities, as well as Catholic marriages.

Regardless of where or with whom the tradition started, traditional wedding cookies are always made in abundance and used as party favors for guests at the wedding. The Mother of the Bride is often found walking around, at the end of the night, handing out empty bags or boxes for guests to fill with cookies from the table to take home with them.

The experts also think another reason this tradition was started was because the materials to make a wedding cake could be very expensive and depending on the budget of the bride and groom it might not be possible to afford a wedding cake big enough to feed everyone attending the wedding. In those cases, the women of the community would be called upon to bake cookies to fill the void that was left by a lack of wedding cake. This ensured that all guests walked away from the wedding with a little taste of sweetness thus wishing the happy couple good luck with their marriage.

The wedding cookie table at Julie and Kelly's reception made me speechless. It was big and simply overflowing with traditional Italian cookies in flavors that I had never seen before in my life. I immediately dumped my purse in a corner and whipped out my camera and begin snapping photos of these cookies. (If you ever see me or anyone else snap photos of food in public, try not to be alarmed. It is simply our way.)

Tray after doily-covered tray were filled with lightly frosted chocolate spice balls, almond cookies, pale white anise flavored cookies, jam-thumbprints, long skinny cookies covered in powdered sugar or sesame seeds and peanut butter cookies with a Hershey's kiss in the middle. The table seemed to go on and on, heaped high with the equivalent of green kryptonite to my diet . . .cookies. I can refuse many things, but cookies I cannot. They weaken my will-power. 

But as I moved closer to the table I noticed little white cards with the names of the cookies handwritten on there and the name of the relative who had made them. That's when I realized that all of these cookies were hand-made for the bride and groom by family members.

Many sources mention the tradition of all of the women in the family gathering together to bake these cookies and catch up on family gossip. Grandmothers, Mothers, Sisters, Aunts and Cousins and future-in-laws as well would start slaving over these cookies months in advance to ensure they had more enough to go around and have some left over for the guests to take home. If there was talk of someone in the family not being able to make their allocated amount of cookies then, someone else in the family would be nominated to pick up their slack and make the remaining cookies. The cookies would get done, one way or another.

After the wedding, I began asking other foodie friends if they had ever seen or enjoyed cookies from an Italian Wedding Cookie Table. I was surprised, because I could not find one person who actually liked wedding cookies. In fact, I found just the opposite, many people hate them. What? How could anyone hate a defenseless little cookie?

There were two common complaints given: 1) That the cookies tasted generally like paste . . .all of them. Regardless of the type of cookie, they completely lacked of sweetness and flavor. 2) That the cookies tasted stale or were rock hard.

First let me say this, I can assure you, having skipped dinner that night at Julie and Kelly's wedding reception in favor of trying one of each of the wedding cookies on their table . . .their cookies did not taste like paste and nor were they stale. They were soft, flavorful and uniquely delicious.

How could a simple cookie tradition have so few fans? And why would this tradition linger on if it was commonly known that these cookies were stale and tasteless? It wouldn't. Which leaves me with two hypothesis. 

First - The cookies I tasted did have very interesting, even old-fashioned, subtle flavors. Could it be in our society with cookies at the mall bigger than your head that are not only frosted and then topped with M&M's, but also chock full o' nuts and chocolate chips that we, as a society, have lost sight of what a simple, traditional cookie can taste like? A tea biscuit, so to speak? Perhaps our palates have been so blown out by the rich and decadent (ingredients that would have been very expensive and in short supply back in the old days, no doubt) we think the wedding cookies are bland by comparison? Or perhaps some wedding cookie makers are simply better than others.

Second - I believe the stale cookie issue is a simply matter of most of these cookies being made months in advance. If they are not stored or frozen and re-thawed properly, I can absolutely see how they might taste stale and old. Again, I come back to some wedding cookie makers are simply better at the craft than others. 

All I believe is needed to truly appreciate this sweet veil of tradition is an experienced wedding cookie maker and a palate willing to enjoy the subtle, graciousness of a small, simple tea cookie.I wish you could have tasted the cookies made for Julie and Kelly's wedding - they were brilliant.

Weddings really are a wonderful way to learn more about other religions and cultural traditions. I say, go to as many different weddings as you possibly can. I always end up learning something new about myself or a religion or tradition that I had never knew existed before.

In this case, I learned first hand that cookies really do equal love. I heart cookie tables and all the tradition and love that goes into them.

Speaking of love, I wish the happy couple much luck, love and light in their future lives together as husband and wife. 

Rumor of Royalty

It was late Spring of this year, when I found myself on the outdoor patio of Le Fou Frog in the River Market with darling Chef Marshall Roth, who is now the Corporate Executive Chef for McClain Enterprises which owns and operates in Independence Square - Ophelia's, Café Verona, Square Pizza, Clinton's Soda Fountain and Courthouse Exchange. This was our "first date", but I had met and written about him in the blog many times. He called me out of the blue one day and we chatted by phone when he asked me if I wanted to meet him for a cocktail. His contract as the Corporate Executive Chef for the Cordish Company who owns the Power & Light District had just ended when we met for a drink, and he seemed to be enjoying his brief moment of freedom in between his old gig and his new one. I remember the weather being lovely, perfect for sitting on the outdoor patio at Le Fou. 

We settled into a breezy conversation about restaurants in Kansas City over a snack of helix escargot compacted and baked with garlic herb butter and served with crunchy French bread. I was still in my Absinthe/Pastis cocktail phase, so I ordered a refreshing glass of Pernod with a water-back. Chef Marshall's eyes lit up as I placed my drink order with the waiter, and as he turned to leave, Marshall said to me: "I can see we are going to be fast foodie friends."  I smiled at him, as the waiter dropped off my cocktail and bottle of water. As I slowly drizzled my water into my two fingers of Pernod, carefully watching the clear liquor turn milky-white, I asked Chef Marshall where he liked to eat in Kansas City.

That's when he surprised me by telling me that every Friday (or most Friday's) he was really enjoying going for lunch at the Webster House. Marshall is good friends with the Executive Chef at the Webster House, Chef Charles d'Ablaing. I think they worked together when they were both at Hotel Phillip's.

Now, I had not been to the Webster House to eat for many years. In my mind it was a "ladies who lunch" place, and not very interesting to me at the time. I have since enjoyed a couple of Chef Charles d'Ablaing's meals, particularly from their new dinner menu, and found his skill and plate presentation to be tasty and impressive.

So, as Chef Marshall and I are talking about Chef Charles d'Ablaing, he suddenly turns to me an says a bit under his breath, "Well, you know Chef Charles comes from royal blood."

"What?" "Reeeaaaally, how do you know this exactly," I asked Marshall, keeping one eye on my slippery escargot I was trying to extract from it's shell and one eye on Marshall's body language looking for signs of puffery or exaggeration.

Without, batting an eye, he says to me,  "Yes, his real name is Charles d'Ablaing "something" (I could not remember, nor pronounce the family name that Marshall said here.) and he comes from royal family and royal blood lines over in Europe. He doesn't like to talk about it, so he has just shortened his name, dropping the family name, for ease and anonymity here in Kansas City." Interesting and mysterious . . .why the need for anonymity . . .is he an heir to a throne? Good gravy, Man, inquiring minds want to know.

Since I was meeting Chef Marshall for the first time, I decided not to press my luck and ask more questions about this juicy rumor. I simply made a mental note of this conversation, and filed it away in my memory banks for use or confirmation at a later date. The next morning, I found Chef Charles on LinkedIn and asked to be linked to him. We chatted over email and he invited me to lunch at the Webster House, so we could meet. I agreed having not been there in a while.

When I arrived for our lunch, I was immediately seated in the back at the Chef's Counter which sits right in front of Chef Charles cooking station. What a wonderful seat! I loved the experience of getting to sit so close to the action, and to watch the entire staff burning and churning their way through a busy lunch hour.

Chef Charles cooked as we chatted, and I discovered that his lovely wife, Silvia, is Brazilian, as is my husband. Silvia had also attended my wonderful Brazilian Baby Shower when I was pregnant with my son, and she used to shop in my Brazilian store west of the plaza called Brazilian Cargo Company. Turns out, I know his wife, very well, but it had been years since I had seen her in Kansas City. Chef Charles told me charming stories of their trips to Brazil, of picking coffee beans on the plantations there and how much he loves the culture and food of Brazil. We shared Brazilian dishes and places to visit as he prepared my lunch for me. I found him handsome, charming, mature beyond his years and interesting to talk to. I was glad I made the connection with him.

Do you think I remembered to ask him about this royalty rumor during our lunch meeting? Unfortunately, I did not. He blinded me with talk of Brazil and his work at the Webster House and the new dinner menu he was working on. His mysterious pedigree never once came up.

Fast forward to this weekend, I am doing some research on a blog entry, and I am reading a newsletter I had saved concerning a charity dinner that Chef Charles did as a fundraiser for the Powell Gardens. It talks about this auction item dinner that Chef Charles will prepare. I stop and catch my breath when I see the name they have listed for Chef Charles in this Powell Garden newsletter.

It read: Urban Cooking Demo & Dinner: The lovely Crestwood home of Wendy and George Powell is the setting for an interactive cooking and dining experience. The enthusiastic Charles d’Ablaing Vangiesseburg, Executive Chef of Webster House, will demonstrate how to use
urban garden herbs and vegetables easily grown on your patio to create a sumptuous meal and one-of-a-kind evening. 

Charles d' Ablaing Vangiesseburg? That's the same name Chef Marshall had used this Spring on the patio at Le Fou Frog. There it is.  It's in writing.  

I did the only thing I knew to do . . .I Googled his name. The only thing that came up was this newsletter for Powell Gardens . . .nothing else. So, I have printed off a copy of this Powell Garden newsletter, so I have proof, in writing, that this name does exist for Chef Charles.

Curiously, the elite in KC, know and refer to Chef Charles by his "royal" name. Perhaps, they know the secret to Chef Charles hidden pedigree.

I haven't been into the Wesbster House in a while for a meal . . .I think I need to get in there to talk to Chef Charles. I'll admit it, my curiosity has been sparked. Oh my, my inner "Chefetish" is showing again, isn't it?

 

I need a Miracle

I've been following with much interest the "Miracle Fruit,"  or Miracle Berry trend. A Miracle Berry is a smallish, red, West African berry that is turning tastebuds on their ear all over the world right now.

If you haven't heard of this berry, it's main claim to fame (or it's miracle, if you prefer) is when you chew on the fruit it makes everything you eat taste sweet. The berry contains an active glycoprotein molecule, with some trailing carbohydrate chains, called miraculin. When the fleshy part of the fruit is eaten, this molecule binds to the tongue's taste buds, causing bitter and sour foods to taste sweet, and sweet foods to taste sweeter. While no one has proven how miraculin actually works on the palate, scientist think the berry might work by heightening the sweetness receptors on the tongue making them larger and more pronounced. The effect can lasts anywhere between thirty minutes to two hours.

Like all good stories, the story of the Miracle Berry and how it became the hottest tropical fruit in the US, has all of the right elements: sweet and sour, sugar and spice and sex, drugs and rock n' roll. (Trust me, I'll get to the good part of the story quickly.)

The story of the Miracle Berry goes like this: In the 1970's, several companies were looking at commercializing miraculin as a diet aid. The assumption being if you were taking doses of miraculin you would naturally eat more veggies and less candy, if your veggies tasted more like candy.

However, once the sugar industry got wind of this research they supposedly sabotaged the efforts to bring it to market by putting tremendous pressure on the FDA not to review it or approve it. The FDA looked at it but refused to review it further, thus miraculin was never given the opportunity to pass the FDA approval and was never developed or sold as a diet drug in the US. The FDA would never release the files on the case and refused to admit it had been pressured by the sugar industry.

Fast forward to 2005, a man in Florida named Curtis Mozie, who is called the Miracle Fruit Man, found this Miracle Berry tree sitting in the back of a small tropical nursery near his home in Florida. After inquiring about the plant, he was told of the unusual side effects of the berry that grew on them . . .they make sour foods taste sweet.

When Curtis tried the fruit for himself, he knew he was on to something and proceeded to plant hundreds of thousands of Mircale Berry trees for himself. He planned to harvest and sell the berries to anyone interested . . .restaurants, bars and even Foodies.

His big break came in May of 2008, when The New York Times ran an article called A Tiny Fruit that Tricks the Tongue.This story was the first to discuss the use of Miracle Berries as fun and novel Foodie entertainment, and thus a red hot trend was born from this red hot fruit.

So the Miracle Berry craze began in earnest over the summer in NYC with roof-top, flavor-tripping parties, as they are known. They have quickly become the new, all-natural, designer foodie drug of choice for hipsters across the country. Supposedly, when you are "on the berry" you change from a mild mannered gourmand into wild-eyed lemon sucking, brussel sprout chewing and hot sauce chugging maniac. Or, at least, that is the claim and hope of the promoters of these events.

As the demand for the Miracle Berries grew, Curtis had calls coming in from all over the world from people who would pay any price to get their hands on his new cash crop. The problem was the article in the New York Times, followed by this video below, created the eternal business dilemma of demand being greater than supply. Soon, Curtis was out of berries, and he was in the position of telling his customers they must wait for the next batch to harvest to continue his supply.

But the Miracle Berry Man's loss was the gain of other tropical nurseries and farmers across the country, as others raced to plant Miracle Berries to cash in on the feeding frenzy. As the berries became very, very scarce, you began to find websites selling Miracle Berry tablets or chewable pills from Asia that supposedly delivered the same effect. But somehow in my mind, if I wanted to flavor trip (AND I DO, I DO WANT TO FLAVOR TRIP . . .BADLY), I want to do it using the real berry and not some chemically enhanced pill. The acid trip analogies just keep coming with this phenomenon.

So, just for fun, check out this video of the very witty, British TV star, Graham Norton, on his show tempting our own beloved adopted foodie son, Gordon Ramsey to try Miracle Berries with him live on the air.

So, I began speaking to my foodie, and not so foodie friends, about Miracle Berries and my desire to get my hands on some and try them and I have had the most interesting reactions.

Most, of course, being almost as curious as I am, said, "Yes, sign me up, I would love to." But the other reactions I have heard run the gamut from somewhat serious to silliness. Here are a few of them with my guess as to the type of person who is asking them:

"Is it legal to eat them in the US?" (Afraid of the Food Police and most of what Emeril does.)

"Does it make you want to do anything else when you are on them?" (Closet Nudist wanting to come out.)

"What if your tastebuds never return to normal after to try them?" (Super Tasters needing job security.)

"Is it addictive?" (Addictive personality looking for their next high.)

"What are the odds it will work?" (Gamblers, who are looking for some action.)

"I'll do it, if you'll do it." (Double Dog Dare . . . in reverse? But, I'm already daring you to try it, Love. Oh, very well, you win. "I accept your dare, Sir, you are ON.")

With a few in my close circle willing to try it, the trick now has been finding some of those little buggers to buy. I had been hunting for months and months online for real Miracle Berries. Just as I was about to give up hope of finding them, and about to order the chewable tablets and pray they were close to the same thing as the real berries, I got a line on a guy who had the berries. 

After emailing with Tom at MiracleFruitTab.com, who was very helpful and patient in answering all of my questions, I have now placed my order and am anxiously planning my Bacchanalian extravaganza when they arrive.

You can ORDER MIRACLE BERRIES HERE!

I can't wait to get some berries and start experimenting to develop my tasting menu for my Miracle Berry party. Visions of this INXS video for the song The One Thing dances in my mind. Sounds like my kind of party. How about you? 

Signature Summer Sippers

Since the day I turned 21 years old, I have been on the quest for “my signature cocktail.” The one drink that when I slid up to the bar and ordered it, everyone would know the type of person I was and what my liquid essence would be if it was poured over ice and captured in a glass.

By the way, this blue drink here, made by Frank the bartender at Delaware Cafe is definitely not my signature drink. In fact, it might be the antithesis of my signature drink. It is too big, has way too many different kinds of booze in it, I would have to teach every bartender in town to make it, it is accessorized all wrong, it has some whacked out gangster name that a nice white girl like me should not be yelling across a packed bar like "Giddy-up Motherf*&ker" or "Whose your Baby's Daddy?" Also, it is also WAY, WAY, TOO BLUE.

Similar to my signature drink quest, I think most people, when the warm weather hits, tend to consciously pick one drink or cocktail and make it their summer drink of choice.

Summer cocktails or drinks do have some hallmarks that make them different than drinks consumed any other time of year. They must be light, thirst-quenching, refreshing, with lower alcohol content so you can sip on them through the long, lazy summer days by the pool and the BBQ and sometimes they even need to be portable.

At least those were the guidelines laid out for me when I consulted Ryan Sciara, Managing Partner and resident Wine Stud at Cellar Rat Wine Merchants in the Crossroads downtown.

Sciara was the Sommelier for 40 Sardines for almost 5 years, and a wine rep before that, and the best bartender they ever had at Teller's before that according to my Lawrence friends. Then he decided to open Cellar Rat along with partner John J. Opelka about two years ago. Safe to say Sciara knows a thing or two about wine, which is where we start our conversation on summer drink trends for 2008.

These recommendations are based on what is flying off the Cellar Rat shelves, where they see the trend headed and what they personally are sipping on this season.

As Sciara put it to me, “we have to like it, to be able to sell it.”

WINES

 •    Rosé wines – Literally, sitting half way between a white wine and a red, is the dry rosé wine. With a nose full of strawberries and summer fruit, and a lovely crisp flavor, rosé has been called the easiest wine to pair with summer food. Last summer, rosé wines exploded on the scene with good ones from California, Italy and France. The trend continues for the most versatile and food friendly wine on the block.

•    German Rieslings – Lower in alcohol content, with a sweet demeanor. The amazing thing about the German Rieslings is the delicate balance the Germans have achieved with this wine. This is not the sugar bomb sweet wine you might expect hearing the word Riesling. This is an easy sipping, exhilarating refreshing white wine.

•    Argentina Torrontes – This interesting grape from Argentina has been traced back to Spanish origins, and is known for it’s distinctive fresh, aromatic scent, much like a Muscat or Viognier. Bright, floral and fruity, this is a medium bodied wine that is rarely oaked and has a high acidity to it. A sudden favorite this summer among those in finer wine circles.

•    Boxed Wines – Boxed wine has really taken a bad rap over the years. The good news is wine companies took note and now they making good wine portable. This can be important for anyone who wants to be outside participating in activities that do not allow glass. Try the Three Thieves line of carton wines, a juice box for grown-ups.

 •    Sake - This Japanese rice beverage has undergone a complete make-over. Ice-cold sakes with cloudy to clear consistencies offer complex new flavors that bring to mind the tropical flavors like papaya and banana.

BEER

•    Wheach Peach Beer from O’Fallon, MO –  An unfiltered beer from our own state of Missouri. This beer has a whisper of peach flavor in the back of the palate. The fruit is present in this beer but by no means takes center stage.

•    Smokestack Series from Boulevard Brewing Company – These new large format bottles from our local brewhouse Boulevard is sweeping the city this summer. With two leaning more on the hops side of the house and the other two on the malt side, no matter how you taste it, these are the beers of the summer of 2008.

SPIRITS

•    Gourmet Gins – Brands like Henderick’s and lime-infused gins are creating quite a stir on this season’s cocktail front. When mixed with interesting fruits and vegetables like cucumber, lime and melons gin drinks move out of the bathtub and into the glass. I have also enjoyed many gin drinks this summer that had a beaten egg-white in the mix, which gives any drink a light, almost angelic mouth feel. May To taste this trend I recommend, the Silver Elder Fizz at Justus Drugstore.

•    Flavored Vodkas – Flavored vodka’s have been around for several years, but this summer it is about coming up with more creative ways to take advantage of the extra flavor punch delivered in this virtually tasteless liquid. I have sipped a lovely cherry vodka with lavender lemonade at Delaware Cafe (Frank redeemed himself with this drink) that tasted like the best grown-up drink at Sonic.

Have I found my signature cocktail? Nope, I’m still looking. But this list has given me cause for pause and consideration. Let’s raise our collective glasses and toast – “To finding your perfect signature drink this summer.”

Story by Jenny Vergara. A full time foodie and a woman on quest to develop her palate and herself through cooking, eating, drinking, traveling and writing. She is the Table Hopping columnist for Tastebud Magazine. Email her at tablehopping@gmail.com or check out her blog at http://www.makingafoodie.com.

Feelin' the Love

Meet Chef Tim Love. He is 37 years old, straight, and a Scorpio from Ft. Worth, TX . . .at least that's what his publicist wrote on his MySpace page. He also wears his trademark cowboy hat in place of a traditional toque. You gotta love a man who leaves his hat on . . .seriously.

His interests are listed as cooking, his wife and kids, Western culture and the Fort Worth Stockyards where he has two restaurants and one bar: The Lonesome Dove Western Bistro his flagship, The White Elephant Saloon his live music and bar venue and The Love Shack his funky cool burger joint that is connected to The White Elephant Saloon next door. He is also a self-taught Chef.

He opened another Lonesome Dove restaurant in The Flatiron District of New York City in 2006, but closed it in 2007 due to underwhelming performance. New Yorkers wouldn't understand a Texas boy's cookin' anyway, besides they see too much faux Western to know the real deal if it hit them on the head. Trust me, Chef Tim Love is the real deal.

"The Fort Worth chef-entrepreneur confirmed recently that he has also sold his west Fort Worth steakhouse, Duce, to Chicago-area chef Efrain Benitez, who most recently was the chef at Tuscany in Chicago's Oak Brook area."

This concept, Duce, was a martini bar with suede couches and funky, modern food. Frankly, coming from a good old Texas boy, the food coming out of the kitchen here from Chef Love was really impressive, even sexy . . .but didn't seem to touch the heart and soul of who he is.

Love also said he is developing a fresh food-to-go concept with Z Market at the company's Dallas/Fort Worth Airport locations. I have read about many nationally know Chefs are doing airport deals right now. Very hot, especially after 9/11. (Received a press release a week after this post confirming that Chef Love's Z Market had it's Grand Opening on May 19, 2008 at Terminal B, Gate 30 at DFW Airport.)

"Chef Tim Love also won his challenge on Iron Chef, the Food Network show that pits visiting chefs against the show's panel of resident chefs. Chef Love competed against Masaharu Morimoto with the mystery ingredient chiles."

"Chef Love opened his menu with a chile-infused margarita, followed by a surf-and-turf course, and a chocolate-chile cheesecake accompanied by a trio of teas that wowed judge Jeffrey Steingarten."

"Morimoto confessed up front that he wasn't familiar with chiles, but still managed to lose by only one point."

"Savvy viewers might wonder why Love didn't compete against chef Bobby Flay, whose strength in Southwestern cuisine makes him the more obvious foe but who is rumored to have rejected Love's request for a match-up. (A Food Network spokesman says he can't confirm that rumor.)"

"Love and his two assistant chefs wore cowboy hats and repeatedly interrupted the hour-long cooking contest with shots of Tuaca, the vanilla-flavored liqueur served at Duce." Any man that can do shots of Tuaca and still maintain his masculinity . . .is my kind of man.

Honestly, I am in love with Chef Love. . .here's why . . .he's cute, he's from Texas and he is a forager and believer in using local ingredients as his press release describes below:

"In 2003 Love celebrated the late James Beard’s 100th birthday with his first annual trail drive. Traveling with horses and camera crew from Fort Worth to New York City, and then riding up on horseback to farmers’ markets along the trail to select local ingredients, Love’s Trail Drive culminated with a gala dinner at the James Beard House that featured all the products he picked up on the trip north. More than 30 million people followed Love’s trail drive as it was featured in various print publications and NBC’s “The Today Show.”

"In 2004 Love embarked on his second annual trail drive. This time, the trail moved to the West in honor of Love’s participation in the American Express Celebrity Chef Tour, an annual charity event featuring celebrated chefs. This unique philanthropic dining adventure was captured by the Food Network in a documentary, “Cowboys on the Trail,” and was nominated for a James Beard Award."

For me, I'm impressed with the guts it took to pull off something like this in preparation for the James Beard dinner. If you are going to cook for some of the finest foodies in the country, of course you would want the food to be spectacular . . .but food you foraged on your way to the dinner is something else, all together. Watching these videos, I also decided to become a James Beard member . . .with access to discount tickets to events, email updates, etc.

The image in both of these videos that sets my heart all a flutter for Chef Love, is seeing him in the woods on this trail drive with his cowboy hat on and his pant legs rolled up as he is stopping to forage something from a creek bed that he planned to use in his dinner. My bodily reaction to watching this strapping young man physically pull something from the ground with his bare hands that he plans to feed me with touches me in some really profoundly prehistoric and primal way. You would really have to trust that this man knows what he is doing to allow him to do something like this for you. I trust Chef Love, trust me, I do.

As I watched this video . . .over and over and over again, I realized that I needed to figure out a Spring foraging experience that I could do as a newbie to the scene. Something not too dangerous or poisonous, but something where I would feel confident that if I did manage to find it, I would know for sure what it was, and I would feel confident eating it.

My opportunity came in the form of a hunter friend who casually mentioned that he loved coming to our neighborhood during the very short morel mushroom season and foraging for morels. Apparently, my backyard is a hot spot for foragers. Who knew? Then I had a conversation with Chef Marshall Roth and he said this time of year always reminded him of foraging for ramps in Europe with a Chef he worked for over there when he was a young lad. He said they were like a cross between a leek and garlic. Then, Chef Ted Habiger was the icing on my foraging cake . . .when he served me a wild nettle soup as part of a tasting menu at Room 39. He said a farmer friend had brought to him and asked him if he could do anything with it. He knew just what to do with the poisonous stinging nettle leaves. The result was an interesting soup that tasted like a cross between asparagus and spinach with a very mild, "green" taste.

So morels and ramps were my goal, as I set out last weekend on my first foraging experience with my family in our neighborhood. Before I walked in the footsteps of Chef Tim Love and others, I did my research . . .reading websites, watching You Tube videos and dressing appropriately (Basically, like a trash collector in the park, complete with a long stick . . .although I wore my brown Juicy sweatpants, as shown in this picture . . .because God knows where else I would wear them except foraging. Right?)

I learned how important proper dressing was when I pulled three ticks off my son's privates later that night at bath-time after he spent the day following me into the woods in shorts.

The ramps were the easiest to find as they grew like crazy in every field in our neighborhood. But morels, proved to be a challenge and after hacking my way through every thicket of forest in my neighborhood and peeking under every downed Elm tree I could find, I finally gave up after a 3 hour search. I came home with an exhausted child and a nice handful ramps.

Of course, I emailed this hunter friend to see if he had any tips on exactly where he had his luck, and in return he sent me a picture of him holding a 4 lbs. morel that he had just found on his own hunting trip that day. Thanks a lot, friend.

I set to work cleaning and trimming my precious ramps to hold them in my vegetable drawer. I was surprised by the strong onion/garlic scent they gave off during cleaning. Reminding me more of garlic, than of leek. I washed my hands for days trying to eliminate the smell from them. My son, smelled my hands and just said: "You smell like food, Momma."  Indeed. I have used the ramps in several things this week.  A weekend breakfast of scrambled eggs, a white wine and garlic cream sauce and I even threw some into a mid-week stir fry.

So, I applaud you, Chef Tim Love . . .for blazing your own trail onto our American culinary scene and for your ability to capture our hearts and our imagination with your passion for really wonderful and exciting food using local ingredients. Just keep doing it your way, buddy, and make us catch up to you.

And if you ever stop in Kansas and need someone to carry your foraging basket, feel free to give me a call. I know this really great neighborhood in Kansas City that is supposed to have the best stash of morel mushrooms and this Foodie would definitely make the time in her busy schedule for you.